Theodora (32 page)

Theodora stayed away from most of the funeral fuss, partly out of respect for the old woman, more out of respect for the Emperor. On the day of Euphemia’s interment, she sat with Narses when he came back from the church and listened to his story of the day’s events. She was listening patiently, but it was obvious she was simply waiting to speak.

‘So, enough of Juliana Anicia’s mourning display – though the silk was quite impressive, she certainly couldn’t have got closer to the purple without being accused of treason – what are you worrying about?’ Narses asked.

Theodora took a breath, she had a question, and no idea how to phrase it. Eventually she managed, ‘One of the girls who comes to tidy my room has become quite fond of me.’

‘Oh yes?’ Narses raised an eyebrow.

‘Not in that way, she’s practically a child. I mean she likes me. Respects me.’

‘How nice.’

‘Yes, it is. But she told me something today, something she’d heard other servants discussing. She thought I ought to know.’

Narses waited for her to go on.

‘Apparently some people think I killed her. Euphemia.’

‘I see.’ Narses sat quite still.

‘I didn’t.’

‘No, of course not, but you’re new in the Palace, and you have travelled – you might well have picked up any number of tricks in your time away. There are plenty of stories about you hypnotising your audiences in the past, charming men to do all sorts of insane things for your love.’

‘Those stories were made up by the publicists, that’s how a theatre gets an audience.’

‘Quite, but the servants aren’t to know that. Then there are those who knew that Euphemia did not approve of your promotion to patrician, let alone this law change, or the proposal that you marry Justinian.’

‘That’s not public.’

‘It’s not private either Theodora, not in the Palace. What is? You must understand, there will always be rumours, this is a small and intense world of its own, it takes itself very seriously. You are an interloper and, in truth, you’re not the most beautiful girl Justinian has ever met. Not the prettiest, tallest, fairest, or even the youngest, not any more.’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Theodora had had quite enough of Narses enjoying himself.

‘So … they see you here, they hear he wants to marry you, they assume you’ve bewitched him somehow. They know Euphemia wants you out of the Palace, they believe Justin will do anything for his namesake, she is the only threat to your promotion – and then she becomes ill. And she dies.’

‘She was old. She was never very well, not even when I first arrived.’

‘No, but these are truths we keep from the people, they don’t know who of their leaders is sick or well, mad or sane, that would do them no good at all. The first they knew of Euphemia even being unwell was the week she died. And they’re a superstitious lot, your City fellows.’

Theodora was a little surprised by his calm. ‘Narses, why don’t you think this is a problem? People are saying I killed her!’

Narses stood, a call was echoing from the end of a corridor, someone needed his advice or his attention.

‘As time goes on, Theodora, as your status rises, you will find it does you no harm to have the people a little frightened of you. Euphemia never quite managed it, she was always too aware of her own rise in status, too grateful and too guarded
about her position, she angered people rather than made them respect or fear her. I suspect you’ll be better at it than she was. Should things work out well for the Consul, in the way we would all hope, you’ll probably find you enjoy being linked to his elevation. Being feared by the people is not so different to being loved by the masses. They can be a little afraid of you for many reasons. Your power will be obvious one day, if you – if he – rises that high, but beyond that, if there is something in you they believe they see, some hint of darkness perhaps, then all well and good. You have been loved for your body and your mind – and your mouth,’ he added, raising a hand to stop her interrupting. ‘Now perhaps it’s time to become a little less known, a little less obvious. Sometimes a shadow can be useful.’

Narses was at the door before Theodora had the chance to reply.

‘Narses—’

‘Yes?’ he answered without turning back to her.

‘You do know I didn’t kill her?’

Narses spoke quietly, his hand on the door, his face turned away. ‘I know for a fact that you didn’t kill her.’

Theodora sat alone then, looking out of the high window across the gardens and the wall to Justinian’s grand new building works on the waterfront, the scaffolding and stonemasonry that was building the City out, further into the water, into the east. She looked across the Bosphorus to where the old city of Chalcedon shimmered in the distance, wondering how well Menander had known his lover. Wondering how much Justinian really knew about Narses. Wishing now that she didn’t know him quite so well herself.

Thirty-Two

The period of mourning for Euphemia came to an end. The Emperor continued to privately grieve his wife, and took up his public duties again. Among the first of his tasks was to pass the law Euphemia had so opposed. He had never agreed with her, but nor had he wanted to anger her – there had not been many issues in their life that Euphemia had taken a stance on; the propriety of women had been one of the very few. She had always felt her own background too keenly, no matter that Justin had been clear where his concerns lay. Now she was gone, he was free to do what he felt was right. In their new world it made sense that, with a priest’s blessing, an actress might prove that she had renounced her past and could be redeemed, the law On Marriage would make that possible: what better sign could there be of the strength of true faith? This law suited the possibilities both for the new Empire and the new Church, it would do well. However, Justin wasn’t prepared to accept any old priest’s recommendation, and he wasn’t prepared to accept Timothy’s recommendation either, Patriarch of Alexandria or not. He sent his own priest to question Theodora; he was ready to accede to his nephew’s new law, as aware as Justinian that Theodora could be a valuable ally in his nephew’s future – but only when his priest had proved her repentant, only when Theodora had set the precedent for actress repentance.

Theodora sighed, pulled on another plain shift, and
prepared to act the sorry sinner one more time. One last time.

Thomas had seen a lot of theatre in the past, he couldn’t tell his own leaders in faith, but he’d seen Theodora often when he was younger and he knew she was a good actress, a great one when she chose, when she wasn’t giving the scene away for the sake of a laugh. So he was prepared for a show when he came to her rooms in the Palace, and he set out his terms very clearly. Yes, she could certainly be forgiven – but not without true penitence. As he said at their first meeting, and then again at their second, third, fourth and was now saying, yet again, at their fifth. Theodora was doing her best to remain patient, but it wasn’t easy. Partly because his tone was more condescending than she had expected from a priest barely three years older than herself, partly because this priest barely three years older than herself was even better looking than the lovely Belisarius.

‘I have suffered, I am repentant, believe me.’

Theodora kept her eyes downcast, waited for him to speak before she spoke again.

‘So you say, and while I don’t doubt you believe you’re sorry – for your sins, for the pain that your soul has been through for them and, understandably, fearful of death and being cast out – I have to wonder if you are actually penitent. Penitence and remorse are not at all the same things.’

‘How stupid do you think I am? Do you think I haven’t listened to a word you’ve said?’ The anger was out of Theodora’s mouth before she could stop it and she kicked herself. She’d been working this priest for days now, sure he was almost about to make the leap, grant his permission, and here he was, causing her to shout like a child. She closed her eyes, and forced herself to kneel at his side in apology. ‘I should not have shouted.’

‘No.’

‘And I know you understand the intricacies of penitence better than I.’

‘I do.’

There was silence. Thomas was waiting. Theodora hated this. The show of shame, forcing herself to fit the image of the penitent. From Menander to Hecebolus, Severus and even Timothy, all these men, always wanting her to bow down. Justinian was the only one who ever seemed content to have her stand beside him. Thomas was right, she wasn’t sorry, not in the way the new law would have her be. She wasn’t penitent in the way he required either – open about her faults, ashamed of her past, of the things she had been through – but she was doing what she had to, because the Emperor asked it of her and because it would make all the difference. She was on her knees, going through the tedious motions, to finally have the priest agree she was good enough now, that her past was forgiven, that she could move on.

It should all have been easy, really, Theodora should have been able to summon up a flood of tears, a chaste and embarrassed smile, a look of sincere regret: she’d learned those skills well enough from Menander. The problem was, she’d never fancied Menander, or Timothy – not beyond his lovely voice anyway. While she could absolutely see herself as Justinian’s wife, and of course she knew everything she was now going through would be worth it in the end, there was the unfortunate matter of her attraction to this priest. And it was hard to expose herself, her true feelings, her real soul to a man she felt for. Harder still because he, quite obviously, was also attracted to Theodora.

Unlike many of his brothers in the clergy, Thomas not only publicly espoused celibacy but had also chosen to live the celibate life in truth. He knew exactly what he was dealing with in taking on this job, the temptation he was placing in his own path as well
as hers. In some ways that was why he’d agreed to take her on: to test himself as much as her. So far, though, Thomas was winning. In Theodora he recognised a wilful spirit and a daring ambition. He recognised it because he had both himself and, while he admitted he had not yet fully tamed his own vaulting ambition, he was now in control of the spirit. Which was why he also saw that Theodora was not in control of her spirit. Why he understood her to be remorseful, not penitent. Sorry, but not yet ready to sacrifice. Why he didn’t believe her for a moment when she said the lusts of her past were not only entirely behind her, but also abhorrent to her. And why, having suffered the enormous privations he himself had undergone in order to renounce his own past life, and then again to enter the priesthood, he had absolutely no intention of letting her off easily.

The priest maintained his silence and eventually Theodora cracked, as he knew she would, as she knew she had to. Thomas after all, held all the power in this room.

She groaned, rubbed her face.

He said nothing.

‘Come on, Thomas, you know how hard this is.’

‘And I know how much it matters.’

‘Of course it matters, Justinian cares enormously …’

‘No, not for your potential marriage, if you get that far. For you, Theodora, for your soul.’

‘Yes,’ she nodded, ‘yes, my soul. As you keep saying. But please … can’t you just … I don’t know, trust me? I’ve told you enough of what happened in Antioch, in the desert – you know I have faith. And I’ll make a great Palace wife. I’ll be good. I’ll do everything they expect of me and more. You know I’ll be good at it.’

‘Pride again?’

She wanted to scream, spoke softly instead. ‘Would it be so wrong to be proud of being a good wife?’

Thomas shook his head. ‘It would be better to simply be a good wife and leave pride out of it entirely.’

Theodora started to get up and Thomas stopped her with a single gesture, one raised finger sending her back down on her knees. She complied. Her years of training meant that she felt the sharp sting of the stone floor digging into her kneecaps, but was perfectly capable of refusing to let him see it.

Kneeling, she tried again. ‘Look, it’s just show you want from me. Show of sorrow and show of penitence and show of remorse. I tell you the words, the truth, but that’s not enough. You want me on my knees, in tears, wailing.’

Thomas waited. He considered her words, this strong woman at his feet. He weighed his own feelings, questioned himself as to why he kept her there: was it truly for her own redemption or was there something else here, too much, that he enjoyed himself ? He waited until that sensation had passed, until he was more priest than man, and then he waited longer still, to make sure that when he spoke his words got through.

Fifty minutes later, when still she knelt beside him, with not even the slightest sign of giving in, Thomas began to speak, very softly, choosing his words with great deliberation. He needed to say this perfectly.

‘You complain that true penitence requires show, and yet you are not willing to show me the physical pain you must be in right now.’ She nodded, started to speak, he stopped her. ‘No. You speak too well. I think maybe you do it all too well for your own good. Theodora, we all have a sin to which we return time after time. Your sin is pride. It shines from you.’ He omitted to say that this particular shine was one of her loveliest attributes. Theodora’s pride in what she had come through, in
her own strength, was perfectly understandable, yet it was still a sin, and it was his job to help her change. He went on, ‘Any other penitent would have been begging me to allow them off their knees by now, confessing countless sins, real and imagined, simply so I would allow them to stretch their aching muscles and ease the pain that must now be shooting through you, but you stay here and you bear it. You endure physical pain, as I imagine some of the martyrs must have done, taking it into themselves, absorbing it. But those martyrs were already penitent, they had already bowed down. You are too fond of your own strength, just as you have been too fond of your skills, your abilities on stage and off. I know your faith is strong, and who am I to discount the blessing given you in the desert? What is vital, though, is that you allow yourself to be less strong than your faith. You are the first sinner I have ever met not to cry, not really, and until you are prepared to show me the deepest part of your soul, then I cannot deem you worthy of Justinian. There is every chance he may rise higher still, I will not provide him with a less than perfect partner. There is no point in false penitence. God is not fooled.’